


to be human

by frozenmango



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24987745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozenmango/pseuds/frozenmango
Summary: In which Maki, for once, reaches out for comfort in the beginning of the killing game.
Relationships: Harukawa Maki/Tojo Kirumi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 42





	to be human

**Author's Note:**

> henlo, it is i. maki is best girl, and kirumi deserves more love. so i made a fic with the both of them. i hope you enjoy.

Maki doesn’t remember what human touch feels like.

She knows the rough contact of survival. She knows what it’s like to hit. She knows what it’s like to punch, to kick, to grasp at an unforgiving hand clenching down hard on your throat. She knows the feeling of nails digging into skin in a struggle. She knows the way skin grows cold under your fingers when life slips away.

But she doesn’t remember the warmth of fingers interlocking with hers. She doesn’t remember what it feels like to be held, to be enveloped in warmth and scent. She doesn’t remember the softness of a palm pressing against her cheek. Ghosts of distant memories tickle her skin whenever her thoughts drift back to her time at the orphanage, but they’re nothing more than that—ghosts.

Does Maki want to remember? She doesn’t know. She feels like a part of her does. A part of her wants to know because she’s scared for her own humanity. She’s scared that a robot like K1-B0 is more human than she is, and Maki thinks that the only thing that sets her and one of Angie’s art pieces is the fact that she breathes.

“Have a good night.”

Kirumi’s voice welcomes Maki when she steps into the dorm building. Maki gives her a quick glance, but says nothing. Maki’s set on heading back to her room. She’s going to go back to her room, take a nice shower, and then—

“Is there something you need?”

It takes a split second until Maki realizes she stopped moving. She scowls to herself, and turns to Kirumi. No, she doesn’t need anything—

“You take requests, right? Because you’re the Ultimate Maid?”

Wait, what is she saying—

“I do,” Kirumi says. “Anything within reason.”

She’s going to go back to her room—

“Can I ask you something, then?”

If Maki was back at work then this would be completely against protocol—

“Yes, of course.”

But Maki isn’t at work. She’s in this fucked up game, a game practically made for her. In theory, she could end it all right now. She’s done it before. She could do it again, and again, and again, and again—but she realizes she doesn’t want to.

Maki doesn’t want to do something like that again, because she’s tired. She’s grown tired of feeling cold skin under her fingertips, the stickiness of blood coating her hands, and the crust it leaves under her fingernails the morning after. She’s tired of killing, over and over and over again. Her chest feels heavy, as if every corpse she’s ever disposed of stacked themselves on top of her body. It’s suffocating—so, so suffocating.

Maybe that’s why, for once in her life, Maki decides to entertain that part of herself that wants to remember what it’s like to be human.

“If I ask you something, keep it between us.” Maki’s words sound more like a command rather than a request.

“Of course.”

“If you don’t, I’ll kill you.” The words slip past her lips as she narrows her eyes into a dark glare.

Kirumi dips her head into a bow. “I always keep my word.”

Maki’s gaze relaxes, and they drift off to stare at some spot on the ground. She fiddles with her bow and says, “Let me hold your hand. That’s within reason, right?” 

Her voice is softer than she expected, and a part of her hates it. It makes her feel like that child back in the orphanage, who would always hold onto her best friend’s hand. They were inseparable. At least that’s what Maki thought back then.

She feels her throat tying itself into a knot. When was the last time Maki thought about her? She doesn’t remember. She feels something burrowing inside her chest, leaving an empty hole behind.

“It is,” Kirumi says.

Maki notices Kirumi’s gloved hand entering her vision. Her lips turn into a frown. “Without the glove,” she clarifies.

Silently, Kirumi takes off her glove, and extends her hand once again. Kirumi’s pale skin seems to glow in the pale moonlight coming through the windows. It makes her look ethereal, like a mirage, and Maki has the faint impression that Kirumi will fade away like a memory.

Maki feels her own hand trembling as she reaches out to grasp Kirumi’s hand. Her stomach ties itself into a heavy knot; Maki has the capability of breaking a grown man’s wrist with a simple flick of her own, but she can’t do something so simple like holding a hand? In her head, she laughs bitterly to herself.

How pathetic.

Maybe it’s because Kirumi always wears gloves, maybe it’s because Maki just came from outside, or maybe it’s a mix of both, but Maki feels like her freezing hand is on fire as Kirumi’s warmth thaws the cold clinging onto Maki’s fingers. This is nothing compared to the torture Maki had to endure, and yet Maki feels something carving at her chest, tightening the knot in her throat so tightly it feels difficult to even breathe. She tightens her jaw, gnashing her teeth together, as she fights back the familiar sting of tears in the back of her eyes.

She doesn’t want to acknowledge the creeping thought in her head. She doesn’t want to listen to the faint voices of the orphanage kids ringing in her head. She doesn’t want to admit the truth she’s been running from for who knows how long. She doesn’t want to, she shouldn’t, she can’t—

“Maki?”

Kirumi’s voice pulls Maki from her thoughts. She realizes she’s been gripping Kirumi’s hand hard enough to turn her knuckles bone-white. Immediately, Maki pulls back like she’s been burned.

“Sorry.” It’s a curt apology, quick and to the point.

“It’s alright.” Kirumi bows, as if to accept her apology. The maid takes a moment to glance over hand before slipping her glove back on. “Although, I’m surprised the Ultimate Caregiver has such a strong grip.”

Maki says nothing.

“Will that be all for tonight?” Kirumi asks.

Maki says nothing.

“…Well, if that’s all for tonight, please excuse me.” Kirumi clasps her hands in front of herself as she gives a slight bow. Her footsteps echo slightly in the quiet room, getting quieter as she makes her way towards her room. Maki feels her jaw tightening with every step, feeling like she’s going to burst at any moment.

Maki doesn’t remember moving. But she must have at one point, because she finds herself clinging to Kirumi, wrapping her arms around the maid’s waist, burying her face in between Kirumi’s shoulders.

“Just for a little bit,” Maki finds herself saying, “is alright if we’re like this?”

“Of course,” Kirumi says. There’s no hesitation.

“Tomorrow morning, we’ll forget this ever happened.”

“If that’s what you wish.”

Maki doesn’t say anything. She stands there, soaking in Kirumi’s linen-scented warmth. With every inhale, she feels her eyes beginning to water until tears spill over, running down her cheeks, the cloth underneath soaking them in growing puddles. She feels weak and pathetic, like the little girl who would cry herself to sleep after training. 

Maki feels something warm intertwine itself in between her fingers. Kirumi’s hand, she realizes. She tightens her grip on Kirumi as more tears fall, choking back her cries.

Maki feels weak and pathetic, like the little girl who would cry herself to sleep after training. But for once, it’s okay. For once, in a very long while, Maki allows that part of herself she’s kept hidden for years to show. For once, in a very long while, Maki receives comfort: she feels the warmth of fingers interlocking in between hers, the scented warmth of someone enveloping her, the quiet presence of a person who is simply there. For once, human touch is more than a ghost of a memory; it’s something real, something she has, right here and right now, no matter how fleeting this moment will be in the end. 

Nothing else matters. Not her job, not this killing game, nothing.

Because for once, Maki remembers what it’s like to be human.


End file.
